The current conversation only proved that. Maria knew that everything she had said would be between them.
Meanwhile, Lily watched the queen and kept thinking that it was a good thing that she was still so young. She didn't understand the most important thing, and Lily didn't want to explain it to her yet. It would be better for her to give Richard some pointers, so he would know what to focus on.
You couldn't compete with the dead.
In their lovers' memory, they would always be perfect. Even if Maria moved Heaven and Earth, she wouldn't eclipse Tira for Richard. Never.
He would never be able to love her the same way, either. Such was the law, and such was life. All too often, it was cruel.
***
Angelina rarely felt guilty, but talking to Joliette was hard. It was as if her own happiness was built on her sister's misfortunes, and everyone knew that. Nobody blamed her, of course, but that didn't make it any easier. It's not like it was Angelina's fault; she hadn't done anything wrong, but still... It was all so awkward and uncomfortable.
Once, before Angelina's marriage, the sisters had been close. Not anymore. Joliette hated Bran Gardren at first sight.
"Angie, what do you see in him?" Her Highness flared up, resentful.
Angelina only shrugged. What could she answer to that?
She remembered the fairy tale about the Beauty and the Beast who would die without her. But had anyone ever thought about what was going on in Beauty's head?
Ugliness was a mask covering a soul, but so was beauty. In a way, it was a perfect disguise. If you were beautiful, you had plenty of opportunities. You were admired, courted, loved, befriended...but what was inside of you? Did anyone care? When we see a pretty picture, we never think about the model depicted in it. She might be tired or hungry or have problems at home, but no, we only see her looks.
The Beast fell in love with Beauty when he saw her soul, disregarding her looks, and that's why she returned his love. The lesson of the story was that beauty and ugliness were two sides of the same coin, and people usually looked only at the side that glittered more. Sometimes, Angelina felt like that beauty in the story. A princess, pretty and smart...but so what? Had any of her suitors ever cared about her heart? Nobody.
That's why she liked Lilian Earton and her strange tales. She was good at listening and hearing. She didn't see princesses, but two girls left without a mother and could understand them. It annoyed Jolie but always comforted Angelina. At least someone could see her as a person.
And Bran... Bran saw the real her: not a princess, but a woman who could be loved. Few could boast that, and Angelina wouldn't trade it even for the royal title. Joliette simply couldn't understand it, and her words once again proved that.
"He's so...homely."
Angelina shared the sentiment about her baby, so she nodded and smiled.
"I guess so. No worries. He'll grow up to be as handsome as Ian. Right, sunshine?"
Ian, who was playing with Hilda in the corner, nodded and smiled at his stepmother.
At first, he had been a little scared of her, to tell the truth. A stepmother... What culture didn't have stories about evil hags who married men with children only to ruin their lives?
And so, he was wary. Not just for himself—after all, he was a man, almost an adult. His sister was different. Hilda couldn't really say anything or look for help, and the nanny wasn't much of a protector. He wasn't sure what would happen.
But Angelina turned out to be well-adjusted. If she tried to win his trust, if she squealed with delight while cuddling with his sister, if she swore that she would love the children until the end of time, Ian would have never believed her. However, she did none of the above. Angelina truly wanted to become friends with her stepchildren, for her husband's sake, and thus, she was wary as well. After all, if she made a mistake, she might never get a chance to fix it, and she had to build a whole life with those children. She would never get rid of them.
Love? She didn't love them, not yet, but who knew what would happen later? The important thing was not to lose any chances. But what was the right approach? How was she to avoid making mistakes? Angelina had no idea. She stumbled about as if in the dark, careful and cautious, slow and wary. It was the same for Ian, too. When one is afraid, it's easier to notice someone else's fear. And so, step by step, several lives entwined into a knot called family.
Ian didn't develop a mindless love for his stepmother. He wouldn't give his life for her—his sister would need that later. But he did acknowledge her, and he would gladly kill for her—that wasn't a problem, considering his father. The Gardrens never had a reverence for human life. All Ian did was accept Angelina and agree to share his space with her and his life. That was much more honest than pretty words about love.
Angelina did the same. She loved Bran, and he adored his children. He had barely survived the death of his eldest.
If she couldn't smooth things over with the children, her husband would be...uncomfortable. She had to try, and both she and Ian did so—successfully. It wasn't love yet, like with Lilian and Miranda, but it was friendship and mutual understanding. That was a lot.
She couldn't explain all of that to Joliette. She barely understood it herself, but Angie felt that with time, if everything worked out all right, Ian would call her the most important name in the world: mother. That was worth it.
Her sister, however, couldn't see it at all. As she looked at the boy, she shrugged.
"Angie, maybe the child could go for a walk, look at something?"
"Ian doesn't bother me," Angelina replied. "I have no secrets from my son."
"Your stepson."
"Son. Jolie, we've discussed that already."
Joliette winced.
"Fine. Tell me, are you going to sit here in the country all summer?"
Angelina raised her eyebrows.
“Of course. I have three children."
"Hand them over to nannies. The ball will happen soon, and I want you to be there. You've become a real homebody with that Virman."
"I love my husband and being with him," Angelina replied, unfazed. "Sorry, sister, but I don't want to go to the ball."
"You still haven't recovered? Although..."
"I'm all right. I just want to stay home."
"Angie!"
"I'm sorry. I had to say goodbye to Father, but otherwise... Lilian advised against going to the city too often. It's hot, there are flies and sickness going around, and I have little children. I don't want them to catch something."
Joliette winced.
"A house, a husband, children... It's so boring, Angie!"
"I don't mind."
"Angie, just forget everything and come!"
"Forgive me, sister, but no."
Joliette spent an hour trying to convince her sister, then sighed and said goodbye, clearly disgruntled.
Ian snorted and climbed on his stepmother's bed.
"I don't like her."
Angelina sighed, tousling his soft hair.
"Jolie's nice. It's just that I got lucky: I have your father and you. She doesn't have anybody."
"What about that...shabby guy?"
"Duke Leroix?" Angelina couldn't help but giggle. Truly, children hit the bullseye, always. Life hadn't taught them to lie or be disingenuous yet.
"Yes, him."
"Jolie doesn't love him, and vice versa."
"I don't like her either. She seems...evil inside. Not like you."
"She's good, too. She's simply unhappy."
"No. Unhappy people are different. She's just wicked."
Angelina waved her hand and decided against trying to dissuade the child. Ian was his father's son: if he was being stubborn, convincing him was impossible. She saw no point in trying to argue with him. Later, she would talk to Bran...
She had told the truth about the ball, too. She had absolutely no desire to go anywhere, whether a ball, a boat tour, or a picnic. Angelina had taken after her mother, Jessa
mine, who hadn't wanted anything other than her children, her husband, and a peaceful life.
Joliette was different.
Ian curled into a ball next to his stepmother, her hand around his shoulders, and thought that he needed to talk to his father, too. He didn't like that woman; he couldn't help it.
Could she never come to visit?
***
Aldonai knew how much Richard wanted to avoid that conversation, but wishes weren't horses, and he didn't want for them in any case.
Maria was his wife. Whether he liked it or not, still loved another woman or not, Maria would stay with him forever, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death did them part. She would share his throne and his power, become the mother of his children, his pillar of strength. If anything happened to him, she would become regent—well, probably together with Jerisson, as the nobles wouldn't tolerate a woman reigning alone, and she would never manage it anyway. Just like her mother...oh, wait.
Richard still couldn't imagine his wife as a rebel queen's daughter, only the stepdaughter of Milia of Wellster: sweet, gentle, and domestic. That's what she was like, and the story told by Jerisson only confirmed that. Richard saw that himself. Hurting that girl was like kicking a kitten: something really nasty and vile.
Yesterday, however... He had drunk too much. Honestly, in his place, anyone would have. But how was he to explain to Maria that they needed to wait? How was he to avoid hurting her?
There was no answer.
Richard pushed the door. Maria was sitting on the bed, dressed all in white. She looked almost like a child, her hair braided, her face clean and fresh, but her eyes were full of anxiety and worry.
“Richard?"
"Maria, darling..."
He sat down next to her and took her hand but never got the chance to speak.
Maria licked her lips.
"Richard, please, hear me out."
"Yes?"
Could he have offended her? Hurt her?
A drunk fool!
But the way Maria looked at him...it was odd. She didn't seem offended.
"Richard, I'll always be by your side."
"Maria?"
"I won't abandon you. You're my one and only, and I will always love you. Don't push me away, please."
Her thin hands were on his shoulders, her lips against his. Who would refuse that? Richard wasn't made of iron. He still didn't remember calling Tira's name, but Lilian had advised against bringing that up.
One had to tell something like that by themselves and never regret it, or that shadow would hang above them their entire life. Maria didn't want that. She wanted to emphasize that the other woman was dead and she was alive. That she loved him and he was free to love her in turn. And sooner or later, one way or another...
She couldn't compete with memories, but she could replace them with new ones, and that's what Maria was going to do.
Let the past bury its dead. She would build the future.
***
Social life carried on as usual.
The courtiers, not being stupid, did notice a change in Their Majesties' relationship.
Everyone saw how they touched each other and talked. There was a certain warmth between them, an intimacy. Something like that couldn't be hidden.
Richard wasn't trying to. He might be a one-woman man who knew that he would never forget Tira. Until his death, when he looked at the moon, he would see her platinum hair and her blue eyes.
Two girls couldn't be more different than Maria and Tira. They didn't have anything in common: their hair, their eyes, their build, their behavior, their personality... But that was for the best, really. Looking for a replacement would only tear his heart to pieces. It would be easier just to say that none existed, and any other woman was completely different.
Maybe Aldonai would take mercy on him, and, when his time came, Tira would run down the moonbeam and give him a hand, smiling invitingly, allowing Richard to leave hand in hand with his one and only love.
But that couldn't happen yet. He had a duty to Ativerna. He had to bring up a son, an heir, give him the throne and make sure that he wouldn't fail. Then and only then...
How long would it take? Forty years? Fifty? He didn't know how many years Aldonai would give him, but whatever happened, he wouldn't waste a single minute. When he appeared before Aldonai, he would look him in the eyes and say, "I didn't love my wife, but I didn't make her unhappy." Richard remembered his father's mistakes and learned from them.
Maria, however, was in love. She was young, happy, and hoped for the best.
They will make it. They must. Richard will come to love her!
Nobody had ever told her that love could be different.
***
Lily threw a disgusted look at the invitation. Still, the royals weren't to be refused. Well, she could do it, in truth. She could avoid going and stay home, and really...
She didn't want any balls, absolutely! Less than two weeks had passed since His Majesty's funeral. But high society had its own laws, and life didn't stop even for a day.
It might slow down and get dim a little with all its mourning gowns and bowknots, but it never stopped. Edward had realized long ago that Lilian Earton was more useful staying in Castle Taral than in the palace and didn't take advantage of her too much. Still, some events simply had to be attended, or everyone would think that you had fallen into disfavor, which was bad for business. Thus, she and her husband had to come.
There was also a short countryside trip planned later on the occasion of a famous poet's visit. Ugh. Lily didn't like the local poets. In truth, she hadn't particularly admired those from her own world, either. It seemed that God hadn't granted her either the talent or the love for poetry. Latin was different, though. Lily loved studying it as it felt clear and logical, unlike poems. That just wasn't her thing.
Now, fairy tales...fairy tales were fine, but Lilian never remembered caring for poems. The local writers with their madrigals, ballads, and various other rhymes made her teeth ache, and Lilian hated toothache to the point of hysteria. She was no dentist. She might notice a problem, but ripping out a tooth was quite beyond her skills.
Trusting local quacks, though? Never!
That's why she brushed her teeth six times a day, sometimes even eight, and regularly examined them, always delighting at not finding any cavities. Dairy products had become a fixture in her diet.
If she couldn't cure something, she would prevent it.
She kept a close eye on the rest of the family, too. At first, Jerisson grumbled, but eventually, he gave up and even started to somewhat enjoy it. He wanted his wife to taste nice, didn't he? He didn't wish for her to smell of yesterday's patty or morning eggs.
They would ride out to the country, have a seaside picnic while the poet read his verses. Oh, to hell with it! But they had to go.
Richard had promised to go easy on them, but if he sent an invitation, there was no refusing. Such was the unspoken bargain. It might be fine for Jerisson—with him having grown up at court, it was his element—but what about Lilian? She hissed like a cat thrown into water, but there was no escaping it!
They had to go.
Lily winced and went to pick a dress. Thankfully, the Earton family colors were green and white, so a mourning knot would perfectly match her outfit. It would have been so much harder if they were pink and violet. Lily shuddered, imagining designing attire in those.
***
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more
William Shakespeare
Lily whistled a tune as she approached the palace.
There was no avoiding it. The ball was inevitable. Still, it didn't make her any less frustrated.
"Mama, don't yawn," Miranda said, winking at Lily and getting an annoyed stare in return.
"It's nice for you, Mirrie. You like all of that."
"We've been through this already, Mama. Relax and try to enjoy it."
Beaming, Jess pulled his wife closer, and Miranda gave them a cheerful smile. Parents.
"Such as what, my love?"
"Such as a quiet evening next to the fireplace, a book in my hands," Lily couldn't help replying.
"We can discuss that," Jerisson said, his eyes sparkling. "The evening, the fireplace, the book—everything. Absolutely."
Parents. That said it all.
"It won't be long. Just five hours or so, and then we can go back," Miranda said, "comforting" her mother.
Lily closed her eyes and, while nobody was watching, discarded her shoes inside the carriage.
She would put them on later while dreaming about a minute of peace.
Why was she required to do all of that bothersome stuff?
She had never dreamed of social life, balls, and receptions. She'd rather get three night shifts in a row! Even four!
Destiny smiled slyly as it watched Countess Earton. So she wanted a peaceful life? Medical practice?
Here, have a few dancing parties!
***
The guests finally arrived.
Before welcoming them, Their Majesties had to wait for all latecomers and give everyone time to greet each other.
Then came the dancing. Richard and Maria were the opening number, followed by the courtiers. There was no dinner planned—just the dancing. In the next hall, the guests gambled, in the third, walked around while conversing, in the fourth, sat in the chairs, sipping wine, the fifth was occupied by gossiping ladies...
Everything was thought out. A ball was a complicated system skillfully controlled by the masters of revels. Nobody would leave slighted. Every taste and every preference were accounted for. All single men and women got appropriate suitors, while each couple was written down in special ball books, a recent invention.
Servants ran around the rooms, serving drinks and snacks. Guards made sure that nobody would start a drunken fight. The plan was foolproof. Everything was accounted for, and any surprises would be taken as a personal offense by the organizers.
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